


The Little Things

by Space_Cadet_Blues



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Cadet_Blues/pseuds/Space_Cadet_Blues
Summary: Hank falls off the wagon. Connor comforts him.





	The Little Things

The grainy wooden surface of the kitchen table blurs under his vision. Where he expects to find the cool metal of his revolver, his right hand clenches around... Nothing? He could have sworn... Ah.

He pulls the memory from the murky depths of his brain. The weapon is safely locked away. Just in case of moments like this. When the pain comes creeping back in like poisonous vines to strangle his heart.

He clutches a picture frame in his left hand and forces himself to focus on the smiling face it holds within. A face that will never age.

What would he look like now? Like Hank? More like his mother? What would his personality be like? A million questions destined never to be answered.

Distantly he registers that his face is wet. Hot tears blurring his vision further, distorting Cole's image. A great hiccuping sob forces its way out of him. He curls his right arm towards him and presses his forehead there. Sobbing apologies that Cole will never hear.

If he could just see him again. If he could just know that wherever he is now he's happy, that he's okay.

The frame creaks in his grip.

Sumo barks.

Then there's gentle pressure. A hand curling under his arm and urging him up. He stands on unsteady feet. There's more pressure. Urging him to let go of the picture frame. No, he says. Don't.

But the pull is gentle, insistent and eventually he relents. He blinks tears from his eyes and a face comes into focus.

"Connor?"

A warmth curls in his gut, something soft and new. Something happier. But it's quickly eclipsed by hot anger. Connor has no right to just walk into his home and start manhandling him. He needs to be alone. He does.

He doesn't deserve happiness. Not while Cole can't experience it. Not while he'll never experience any emotion ever again.

"Connor, g'the fuck outta here," he tries to shout but it comes out as more of a quiet plea.

"I can't do that Hank."

Connor tugs, and Hank goes. An arm slides under his and he leans his weight on the strong lithe body currently dragging him towards the bathroom.

This is familiar, the fact that Connor has done this for him before makes him want to laugh and cry simultaneously. He's pretty sure there's no crime scene for them to visit this time. Connor's just looking out for him.

Again he stamps down the warmth threatening to turn his mood.

Can't Connor see there's more to life than shepherding around a useless old man. He's free now, he should be off seeing the world, discovering himself.

Connor throws open the bathroom door and helps Hank inside. Hank spots the shower and panics a little, remembering last time. The sudden cold spray, the humiliation.

"Don't want a shower Connor."

"That's good then. I'm going to run you a bath so that you can relax."

That doesn't sound so bad.

"M'kay."

Connor sets him down onto the cool tiled floor and Hank immediately makes a beeline for the toilet, crawling over and chucking up his guts into it.

He can hear running water and then there's a hand moving his hair and holding it while another hand rubs his back. Gentle. Careful. Hank could almost cry again but instead he focuses on getting everything out of his stomach.

Once he's all sicked out Connor leaves him momentarily to fetch him a glass of water. When he returns, Sumo follows, sitting in the doorway watching Connor hand Hank the water. Sumo whines until Connor reassures him with fussing and cooing.

Hank watches him scratch Sumo behind the ears while he sips from the cool glass, sitting on the floor like a child. The water washes the acrid taste of bile over his tongue but he perseveres until all that's left is a muted sticky aftertaste.

Connor turns off the taps, steam curling around him, fogging up the tiles and the bathroom mirror. There's a sticky note right at eye level in the centre. It says "You're worth it." Connor wrote it months ago and it's Hank's favourite note. Usually looking at it staves off the worst of a depressive episode. But not tonight.

Connor takes his glass and sets it down somewhere out of the way, then he's back, helping Hank to his feet.

"I need to undress you Hank."

Hank's blotchy flush turns a shade darker as he gapes indignantly at Connor.

It's bad enough that some of his more recent dreams have involved Connor and undressing. But this is somehow more humiliating.

What's worse is that Connor continues.

"If it helps, my intentions are not sexually motivated, I believe you will require assistance considering your balance is already compromised-"

"Stop, that's... it's fine."

Hank steadies himself and Connor's fingers catch the edge of his puke stained t-shirt. Hank shivers as soft synthskin brushes against his own as he lifts his arms and Connor removes the shirt. His skin breaks into gooseflesh despite the warm temperature of the bathroom.

Connor drops the shirt and meets his eyes seemingly somewhat embarrassed but determined, that’s when Hank realises Connor's fingers are lingering on the waistband of his sweatpants.

Belatedly Hank remembers he’s not wearing anything underneath. But it shouldn’t matter. Connor would have helped him out of his underwear anyway and that may have been more awkward.

At hearing no objection Connor pushes the sweatpants down over his hips. They pool at Hank's feet and he holds onto Connor's shoulder to steady himself as he steps out of them, wobbling slightly. But Connor has him, guides him gently by the elbow and helps him into the tub.

The water is just right, not too hot.   
Hank sighs as he relaxes and leans against the back of it, arms resting on the sides.

He watches Connor as the android thinks for a moment, tapping his lip before disappearing, petting sumo on the way out. The dog whines in confusion and looks at Hank. Hank shrugs clumsily.

Connor appears a moment later with a plastic jug, one that Hank used to use to water his indoor plants. After the last one had died he had cleaned it and put it away. He wonders what Connor’s intentions are with it.

Hank gets the idea when Connor rolls up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt and comes to kneel at the side of the bath.  
  
“Sit forward,” he requests. His voice is soft.

Hank obeys.

“Tilt your head back a little,” softer now.

Hank does, closing his eyes, the world spins in the black behind his eyelids but the fuzziness at the edges of his mind is receding with every passing moment.

He hears the splash and glug of the jug being filled with bathwater, then there’s a hand brushing through his hair, smoothing it back. Water hits his hairline, splashing over it, running down the sides of his face and the back of his head. Connor repeats the motion several times.

Once Connor has deemed his hair wet enough Hank hears him place the jug on the corner of the bath, and then hears the sound of his 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner cap pop open.

There are hands in his hair, massaging his scalp in firm soapy circles. He makes a low appreciative noise as Connor works his magic, starting from the top near his forehead making his way down, soapy fingers dipping to rub behind Hank’s ears. It’s nice. Really nice.

Connor finishes off the little massage by combing out Hank’s hair with his fingers to avoid tangles.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Connor almost whispers.

Hank nods. He almost feels disappointed when he hears Connor fill the jug again but is a little happier once Connor’s fingers are back combing through his hair again as he pours the water, washing away the suds.

Once rinsed free of soap Connor puts down the jug and scratches his fingers through it.

Hank remembers something, the memory catching him off guard.

He laughs. A low chuckle that bounces off the tiles.

“What?” Connor asks, voice still soft.

“I just remembered. When I used to give Cole a bath I used to spike his hair up with the shampoo, give him a little mohawk, or just one big spike on top. We’d giggle about it every time, even though he’d ask me to do it for him almost every bath time.

If there’s anything kids teach you it’s that you should enjoy the little things. Don’t take everything so seriously.”

“That's a nice memory. And a wonderful sentiment.”

Hank can hear genuine emotion in his voice.

“Mm.”

Connor turns Hanks face towards him gently with slippery fingers under his chin.

“He’d want you to hold onto that,” Connor says, smiling softly, its undertone full of sadness and, hope?

Before, Hank would have been angry at such a statement. But, Connor’s right. And lately he has been enjoying the little things a lot more. Usually because of Connor.

He hums in agreement looking into Connor’s eyes. Warm honey brown. Gorgeous. Connors thumb brushes his lip.

Neither of them notice Sumo approaching until he has his front paws in the water. Connor shields his face as Sumo splashes the rest of the way into the tub. Hank yells as he’s forced to back up to give the big lump some room.

Sumo’s tail wags happily, flicking water here and there as he noses into Hank’s face.

Hank laughs and ruffles his now soaking wet fur. Sumo shakes needlessly sending Hank and Connor into a giggle fit.

Cole's gone. Nothing can change that. But there's still a lot to live for.

All of the little things that make it all worthwhile.


End file.
